Letter to a Banished Brother
by gopadfoot
Summary: Sherlock writes a conflicted letter to his banished brother, telling him how much he hates him. A companion piece to my story Banished, but can be read by itself.


Brother Dear,

I won't greet you with the traditional greeting, putting the "dear" before brother. I'm not exactly sure how dear you are to me (most of the time). "Brother" is something you'll always be to me, however, whether I find it agreeable or not.

Before you suspect this letter to be a sign of brotherly sentiment on my part, let me inform you that you are correct, only not in the way you may have hoped. My sentiment is one of resentment, loathing even. For all you have done to me until now, and for what you are currently doing to me.

I despise you for being born first, and by doing that, have appointed yourself my overseer. What would it have been like, I wonder, if I had been in charge of my own destiny? That thought is not one I prefer to follow to its conclusion, as the answer might very well reveal more about my own weaknesses, and magnify the debt I owe you many times over. And for that, I resent you even more.

I resent you for being the smart one, and I loathe you for constantly rubbing it in. I have even believed myself to be a common idiot, and your disdain had reinforced that misconception. Yet you were willing to share of your brilliance, to guide me and mold me into exploring my potential. I wish I could have called myself a self-made man, and credit my powers of deduction only to the power of my mind. Yet doing so would be a lie, and I hate you all the more for that.

I despise you, I truly do, for constantly assuming I would trip and fall, and need your help to get up. For watching my every move, always with the expectation that you would need to step in. I despise you even more for having your assumptions being proven right, again and again. No one has seen through my deceptions quite like you have, seen the fearful child lurking inside me, crying out for help, while stumbling again and again. I cannot help but hate you for knowing what I truly am.

You might have assumed that it is your interference that I resent, and your overprotectiveness that I find stifling. You might be right, yet you are also very wrong. Because I hate you even more when you cannot come to the rescue.

I resent you for sending me away from the home I loved, from the friend I couldn't live without, from the life I needed, to trek all over the world on a dark and lonely mission. You said it was the only way, but deep in my heart I doubted it. You are all-powerful and omniscient, couldn't you have taken down the monster yourself? Slayed him with the sword you kept hidden in your umbrella, as you have slain all the monsters beneath my bed in times long gone? I despise you for shattering my innocent belief in your omnipotence.

I loathe you for all the times you couldn't save me from the harsh realities of life, but even more, from myself. For letting me drown in the cesspool of drugs, even though I didn't let you rescue me. I still had some belief that you were stronger and wiser than my own weak mind, and could have gotten me to stop, somehow. You forced me to take responsibility for my actions, and for that, my heart abhors you.

Of all the travesties you have committed, I can least forgive you for what you made me do that day. I held a gun trained on you. On. My. Brother. You have let our relationship deteriorate to the point where I didn't recoil in horror from even contemplating such a deed. No matter the outcome, no matter what made me come to my senses, you had actively encouraged me to end your life, and made it seem the right thing to do. I still have nightmares of what could have been had I faltered. My anger at you has no limits.

Now I find myself practically exploding in rage, all of it aimed at you, and your foolish little venture. For going placidly to what you surely knew was a death trap. For not fighting with all the resources at your disposal. For the sneaking suspicion that your acquiescence was part of a deal to protect your family, and mainly me. To keep some things from coming to light.

You abandoned me, brother mine. You are even more a rubbish brother than I thought. When I needed you more than ever, when I found out that my life was a lie, you boarded a plane that took you away, took you far away from me. You caused me, for the first time in my life, to worry about you, and I despise you for that.

What is the point of this letter, you may ask (although I have written it only in my Mind Palace, and it will never see the light of day)? The point is to let you know how much I detest you.

And also, to ask you a small favor. Mycroft, can you please come back? Only so I can hate you in peace once again, you understand.

Your Little Brother (for better or for worse),

Sherlock


End file.
